


Runecarver

by chiixil_84



Series: Acquisitive Adventurers [3]
Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft: Shadowlands - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Oribos (Warcraft), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-World of Warcraft, Runecarver is the Primus, Self-Reflection, Siblings, Spoilers, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, World of Warcraft - Freeform, World of Warcraft: Shadowlands, World of Warcraft: Shadowlands Spoilers, and I have so many questions and feelings, and that was his downfall, but he really cared for the people he considered family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:55:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiixil_84/pseuds/chiixil_84
Summary: Memories are all that they are once the moment has passed; you may regret some, while others will be the things that get you through difficult times.The Runecarver sits in Torghast, ruminating on many of these such memories as the mortal adventurers from some distant world return them to him.Unfortunately, most of his memories are ones filled with regret.
Series: Acquisitive Adventurers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1144403
Comments: 22
Kudos: 15





	1. Rue

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed some of the questlines in the new expac, and I had SO MANY FEELINGS so I started trying to get some of them out. This won't be very long, but I have so much I wanna get out so it'll come out as I can get it lol.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

There were very few moments he could recall when time stood still, and the world became silent; many of them were held in the fingertips of gods as they scrutinized how they would shape a realm, while others were curated by the smallest of creatures about to make a world-ending decision without a second thought. He had been the owner of a few of these moments himself, both as the leader of Maldraxxus’s five houses and as the greatest runesmith in the entire cosmos. 

_None_ could live up to his abilities, and he prided himself on this fact for eons. 

For many months, the Primus began to feel something resonate from deep within his bones, the chaotic energies begging for release as they bubbled just beneath his psyche; he often found himself feeling this way whenever something churned inside his soul, his subconscious creating a series of runes that would push the very limitations of the laws of physics itself. Every time he succumbed to this feeling, he would leave his forge with a blessed – or, cursed, in some cases – creation to offer to the mortal and celestial courts alike. Though they would squander time, lives, and resources to fight over his creations, the Primus would never stop himself from following the call of the forge as it came to him. 

This time, however, the Primus put off that need for more important issues regarding the continued maintenance of the Shadowlands, wanting to ruminate on where these feelings were originating from before jumping right into another project. As a forgemaster and a military tactician, the Primus held a special skill only one other of his siblings possessed: _foresight_. It was a gift he had known and regularly used from the moment of his own creation, always coming out on top, no matter the circumstance. 

Despite being as knowledgeable as he was with the difficulties of navigating through the future’s endless possibilities, this project was hidden from him in every path he searched down. 

That gave the Primus pause, and he wanted to know _why_. 

He spent many months scouring over every available text in the Sepulcher of Knowledge, rereading texts he had come to know by heart over the countless centuries. It took the gentle push from his margraves to eventually call off the search, long enough to return to Oribos and settle a conflict between his other siblings. 

Though their quarrels never held much meaning to the Primus, he would carefully listen to their arguments and find the mediation between them all, wishing only the best for his siblings. This time, their dispute was over the newly acquired souls from some world an alien legion had conquered, and whether or not these souls had been delegated properly. 

He knew it would be a long battle, from the way the other realm keepers glared at one another. Even as the burning of chaotic magicks brewed inside of him, the Primus could wait a little longer to help his family before returning to his pursuit of answers. 

It wouldn’t take long, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted onto my tumblr: https://acquisitive-adventurers.tumblr.com/post/639978786180431872/runecarver-1-rue


	2. Mediator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguments are exhausting, and often unproductive when the Arbiter and Her Voice becomes involved.

His siblings’ squabbles were generally something the Primus did not allow his emotions to get swept up into, but today had turned out to be something else entirely. Sitting before the Arbiter in the great city of Oribos, the Archon raged as she claimed that the Sire had taken some souls that rightfully belonged to Bastion; the venthyr, in turn, retorted that The Purpose does not make mistakes, and any souls deferred from the skies of Bastion surely deserved to be weighed down by the burden of their sinstones. 

The Primus _did_ try to settle both of them as the broker that had Her Voice remained as silent as the Arbiter Herself, but the Maldraxxian’s attempts at reconciliation were met with venom and lackadaisical retorts. 

Zovaal, for his credit, remained as neutral as the Winter Queen during this dispute, but it left the Primus feeling even more of a failure as the fight stretched on for many, _many_ hours. Neither side was willing to compromise on this very serious issue – Kyrestia in that her loss wasn’t actually a _loss_ , as The Purpose was never wrong; Denathrius in understanding Kyrestia’s anger of feeling short-handed in what she rightfully thought belonged to her realm, rather than riling the Firstborne up further – and with the Sire constantly throwing out asides to the kyrian, the argument had come to blows nearly as often as he threw out his quips. 

It was exhausting, to say the least; he could only imagine how the other neutral parties felt watching this event unfold. 

The Primus could only offer one small piece of advice to the angered Kyrestia, but even with all of his foresight, he only had a slight inkling on whether it would work or not. “Sister,” he began slowly, cutting through the tension so abruptly that it forced the opposing parties to turn and look at him. “Although I cannot change the course of a soul’s destination in the Shadowlands, you can prevent this from happening again by ordering your own ascended to guide the souls from the Arbiter's presence to assure their release to Bastion.” 

“And waste the precious anima to assure that the process remains unsullied, when this fool has already tarnished The Purpose with his games?” the Archon spat, her wings struggling to remain closed against her back as her anger flared. “Why should Bastion work twice as hard when the reprobates of Revendreth will be reduced to nothing but husks after _his_ intervention?” 

Before the Primus could reply, Denathrius answered her instead, his chortling cutting through the air like a bad note playing on an organ, “Do not be so envious, dear _sister_ , of my realm’s ability to harvest these sinners for what little worth they have left. If you need me to teach you a lesson on anima consumption, _surely_ , I could find an appointment for you in – oh, let me say, the next century or so?” 

Her wings snapped open in an instant, a gust of wind sweeping across the Arbiter’s spire at Kyrestia’s show of force. “How _dare_ you suggest that I need _you_ to –” 

Tal-Inara took one step forward and cleared her throat, a soft noise that instantly left every one of the Shadowland’s caretakers silent. She waited another moment after her quiet interruption, her unseeing gaze slowly turning to face each of the guardians, before she nodded once. 

“Good,” the broker hummed, the noise sounding whimsical despite the situation. “I am glad that I have your attention, now.” She stepped closer to the center of the Arbiter’s spire, each set of eyes watching as Tal-Inara took her time to move across the platform. “As you have no doubt seen,” she began quickly, turning in her designated spot in between them all with a simple wave of her hands, “the Shadowlands have had quite the overabundance of souls as of late. Not every single mortal that comes through here will be settled in the lands _we_ believe they belong in, but in which She deems as their rightful place in this afterlife.” With a grandiose flourish, the broker turned and gestured to the floating goddess before them. 

At the recognition, a soft yet warm presence filled the air, the feeling settling on the Primus’s bones in a way that almost left him feeling refreshed despite the agitation he could still sense. 

The broker continued on, “If you doubt Her abilities as the Arbiter, She would gladly remind the dissenters as to why She is the one with The Purpose clearly set out before us all.” 

Although Tal-Inara had no facial features to give him the visual cue, the Primus could sense the too-strained smile from the broker in her words as she dismissed them all. 

Had he been more a petulant keeper, he would’ve felt like a scolded child at her words; however, the Maldraxxian simply felt drained. 

Too drained, even, to keep the itch of creation at bay any longer. 

He barely remembered walking through Oribos, or the journey through his realm’s gateway, or even that he dismissed all of his cabal from The Seat so he could be alone; he could hardly recall how long it had been since he locked himself away in this place, the call of the forge lulling him as he tirelessly worked on the creation that bloomed from the deepest recesses of his mind. 

This never really bothered him, the blackouts that would overtake him during this time he spent toiling against the very fabric of reality itself; it was in this moment of lost clarity that the Primus felt the most alive – given the circumstances – and it allowed his mind to relax, even if it was only for a moment; the constant information from his foresight kept the Primus on alert at all times, as futures could change with even the slightest action. 

He wondered if Zovaal felt this way, too, with his gift of foresight; even if it wasn’t as _extensive_ as his own was, perhaps the caretaker of the fields would indulge in the Maldraxxian’s questions, as invasive as they might be. 

Although his brother was even more private than he was, the Primus would try to ask Zovaal anyway. His brother had always enjoyed listening to the other guardians talk about themselves, even about the most trivial of things; he hoped that, now, Zovaal would allow some of his own feelings fall through the stoic façade he kept up, even if it would only be for a moment. 

_ At least the worst thing he can do is say **no** , _ the Primus told himself.  _ But, then again, he’s never been one to turn me away as he does the others. What would make him forsake me now?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but this was what I could get out without it just... spiraling too deeply into my own theories about the guardians of the Shadowlands.
> 
> That'll be for the next two (yes, two!) chapters. ;p
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!


End file.
